The last time I wrote Sandy and I were nursing wounds. Fortunately we were able to work things out…

…in large part to the community around us telling us that although we are bound to get tangled in each other’s questionable decisions and disagree that they see the worth in what we’re doing together.

I’m not always sure of the decisions I make. I don’t meticulously comb through the details of the consequences. It’s bothersome to me, so impulsiveness reigns.

Running down a street scattered with trash and roosters that give chase + dogs that crawl from under the junkyard’s fence – another decision I didn’t think through the other day.

I like being impulsive. Combine that with stubbornness, and I’m a whole lot of the opposite in my decision making process to my husband who is patient and slow to react because of his calculations and thoughtfulness.

We are so similar in many regards that it is startling when we can’t understand each other. Much of what attracts us to each other – that we find admirable in one another lies in differences. He likes that I’m silly, quick to act, and generally “off.” I like that he is contemplative and kind, slow to judge and adaptive.

Suicide Club Harley Quinn and Joker

He is the Harley Quinn to my Joker, and vice versa. Both certifiably nuts according to social norms, and we feed into each other’s “throw caution to the wind” agendas.

So we aren’t going to romantically end up temporarily imagining alternate realities, a la La La Land.

Sandy claims he’d come find me if I really did physically move myself away, and just like I did when I saw him Thursday for the first time since our fight, I know I’d melt even through all my stubbornness and guardedness. I may want to distrust him, but I know that he cares about me, even if I don’t understand his choices sometimes.

In the end, we are more like the last scene of A Cure for Wellness (which I can’t find an image of anywhere, but this is close). Feeling better, but not cured.

But a cure is less than the point than that the fact that we choose to pedal together – him with parasites in his belly and me with deeply seated mommy-daddy issues, or maybe it’s the other way around.